Survival of the Fittest
by Rachael-Raz
Summary: Set after 1x18. Peter and Mohinder fight for their lives, and meanwhile Claire finally meets her father. Chapter 3 up!
1. Chapter 1

**Authors Note: **Wow, I watched an episode of Heroes last night after missing almost the entire season (Life got in the way, curses) and fell in love with it again. Soooo I got onto and watched the entire season. Personally I don't think I'll make it until April 23. I will die. And so Here's my version of what will happen next. Enjoy! Reviews are greatly appreciated.

* * *

The pain was unimaginable. Every cell in his body was screaming for release. His eyes moved down his body, seeing the forks and knives jutting out from him at odd angles like some horrible acupuncture from hell. He closed his eyes, wondering what on earth Sylar was waiting for.

Then the door opened. Mohinder felt a rush of hope, swiftly followed by dread as he heard Peter Petrelli's voice calling. He opened his mouth, letting out a strangled gasp of pain, but no words came to him. Soon from his vantage point on the ceiling he watched Peter enter the room. A few drops of his own blood rained down on the young man's head, and he looked up. Through the haze of pain Mohinder choked out one word.

"Sylar."

The next motion was a blur. All Mohinder knew was that barely a second after Peter looked up he was being pinned to the wall by Sylar. Knowing what was going to happen, the scientist closed his eyes, but he could not block out the sounds of Peter's agonized screams. Clenching his teeth, he struggled against the items pinning him to the ceiling, but the movement sent pain ripping through his body, and he fell limp, gasping and barely conscious. There was a ringing in his ears, but he noted that the screaming had silenced, and all hope was lost. Peter was dead, and with him any chance of their survival.

* * *

"So, um... where is Peter?"

Angela Petrelli gave the young girl a smile. "He went to find Mr. Suresh. He's a scientist who's been trying to help people with gifts."

Claire nodded, a light of understanding coming into her eyes. "I read his book!" She explained. "Well... kinda. I mainly read the part dealing with... well, me."

Her grandmother (what an incredible notion that was, her_ grandmother_) nodded, but before she could reply the front door was opened, and another voice echoed down the hallway to the living room in which the two were speaking.

"Peter?"

Mrs. Petrelli got to her feet. "Your father." She said, sounding not too pleased. "Peter's gone, Nathan, but there's someone else here I think you should meet." She called.

Claire shook her head quickly. Her father - the father who had practically abandoned her without second thought - was not the Petrelli she wanted to see at the moment. Nonetheless Nathan soon appeared in the doorway, looking shocked.

"Mom you... do you know who this is?" He asked.

The woman rolled her eyes. "Oh please, Nathan. You may have the world convinced you're a saint but I know better."

His eyes narrowed at her, and then looked to Claire, getting almost the exact same, guarded look back. They stared at each other like that for a few moments, Angela standing off to the side, looking not the least bit uncomfortable, and finally Nathan broke the ice.

"So... Why are you here?"

"I was looking for Peter." Claires words were sharp and clipped.

"Oh, how do you know him?"

"He saved my life." Claire explained as if she was speaking to a four year old. For the first time Nathan looked truly interested in what she was saying.

"Are... you the cheerleader?"

Claire put her hands on her hips, and nodded, looking away slightly, growing to hate that title more and more. "Yeah." What the man said next threw her completely.

"So it's your fault he was in that coma."

Claire looked back up at him, shock on her features. "What?" Her voice trembled. "A _coma_?"

Nathan nodded. "Yeah. For two weeks. He almost died."

Claire glanced around the room quickly, trying to get her head around what she was being told. "Wh... When, and how... _my _fault?" She sputtered.

"Yeah, he traipsed halfway across the country for you and then collapsed right outside the police station."

"And you're blaming me? Look, I didn't _ask _him to come, but I am grateful, because otherwise I would be dead!" Claire's voice rose a few pitches. To the side Mrs. Petrelli began to look a bit concerned.

Nathan looked like he wanted to argue, but thought better about it, turning around, his hands running over his slightly stubbled chin. "Dammit... Ma, where _is _Peter?" He demanded.

"He went out." Mrs. Petrelli said simply.

"Playing hero again, huh?" He got no answer, and shook his head, looking flustered and annoyed. "Well tell me when he gets back cause I need to kill him." He began moving towards the door, when suddenly his cell phone rang. He sighed, and took it out.

"Hello?"

Claire rolled her eyes, wishing the man would just leave, watched his face as it changed from bewildered to afraid, then suddenly to angry. "Who the hell is this?" Another pause, and he had become confused again. "Hiro? What are you-?" Yet another, longer pause, and Nathan's face paled. "Alright, alright. Yeah." He flipped the phone closed and turned to look at Angela.

"What is it?" The woman asked. Claire looked quickly back and fourth between them, growing more and more worried.

"It's Peter."


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: **Wow I never expected so many people to read this. I can't tell you how grateful I am to all my reviewers, and I hope you like the next installment!

* * *

"What about Peter?" Claire asked, her voice still high and frightened. "What happened?"

"Isaac..." Nathan began, but stopped. Neither of them would know who Isaac was...

"Yes, the painter. Continue?" Angela said brusquely. Nathan gave her an amazed look, and her face hardened.

"I'll explain everything later Nathan. What did Isaac paint?"

"P-Peter, being attacked..." Nathan managed to sputter out. His phone began to beep, and he fumbled with opening it. "They... sent me a picture of it..." He brought up the image, and his face went white. "Oh my God..."

"What is it?" Angela demanded, prying the phone from his hands and looking at it. Soon her face matched that of her older son's. Claire snatched it from Mrs. Petrelli's hands.

Peering closely at the picture, a haunting depiction of Peter pinned to the wall of a dark room, blood running down his face, Claire felt her breath catch in her throat. "That's the man who tried to kill me!" She exclaimed. "That was how he killed Jackie!"

Nathan and Angela exchanged worried glances, and Claire grew only more confused. "I... I don't understand." She said quietly. "It's only a painting..."

"Isaac paints the future." Nathan explained, still looking shaken.

"This... _This is going to happen!?" _Claire exclaimed, brandishing the phone. "We have to stop it!"

"Claire, calm down." Angela said earnestly. "We'll stop it, but we need to think rationally about this."

"Mom, _where is Peter?_" Nathan asked yet again.

"He went to see Mr. Suresh."

* * *

Peter Petrelli was barely aware of the screaming coming from his mouth. It didn't matter to him that his left eye was blinded by blood, or that he was choking. All he was aware of was excruciating pain, pain so extreme it shot through his entire body. Dimly he was aware that he was dying, and dimly the notion came to him that he could fight it off.

_I will not die like this._

Struggling to grab hold of a useful power in his agonized mind, Peter finally came up with one. Telekinesis - ironically, one he believed he had gotten from Sylar himself. Gritting his teeth, he forced Sylar away from him. The startled man, whom had obviously not been expecting any resistance at all, flew back into the far wall, breaking a shelving unit in the process. The wood planks, as well as the various objects stored on them, tumbled down onto Sylar, and the man went limp.

Peter slid down the wall and onto a heap on the floor, groaning in pain as his head throbbed, feeling the blood running out over his face, the coppery scent on the air making him nauseous. Slowly he raised his head, his one eye not blinded by blood staring up at Mohinder pinned to the ceiling. The man looked barely conscious, but alive.

Raising a shaking hand, Peter concentrated hard on the forks and knives holding the scientist, and began to pull them out, his wound giving an agonizing jolt as he did so.

The instant the items began to be pulled out Mohinder snapped back to his senses with a groan. His eyes, wide with pain and shock, looked down at Peter, amazed that the man was still alive. "P-Peter!" He choked out. He could see the large wound where Sylar had begun slicing his skull open - the entire right side of his face was covered in blood. His hand was shaking, and his face was pale.

"Hang on Mohinder..." He gasped out, struggling to pull the forks and knives out. "I'll... I'll get you down..." Mohinder inhaled abruptly at the sharp pain of the utensils being pulled out, and without warning he was tumbling down to the floor. He hit quite a bit lighter than he expected, then he realized Peter had slowed the fall. He rolled over, letting out a moan of pain as his body ached, but when he looked down at himself he found the damage was not all that bad, considering the circumstances. He was bleeding all over the place, but he had no broken bones and most of the stab wounds were only in skin.

Climbing to his knees, he half-crawled, half-stumbled over to Peter. The young man was shaking, in agony, and looked ready to pass out. Mohinder bent closer to examine the damage, the scientist in him already calculating his chance of survival. It was not good. However, as he looked on, miraculously he saw the wound begin healing. He looked on in wonder, and suddenly there was no wound at all, just a thin white scar reaching clear from the left side of his face into his right eyebrow. The man took in a few shuddering breaths, and sat up.

"Where is he?" His voice was hoarse from screaming, but his eyes were wide and terrified, fixed on the pile of wood that used to be Mohinder's bookshelf. There was no sign of Sylar anywhere.

"Looking for me?" In a flash Mohinder was thrown, and he let out a bellow of pain as he hit a wall. Peter scrambled to his feet, and there Sylar was, standing only a few feet in front of him. The man took a few steps toward him, and Peter began backing away, his hands in fists at his sides. Sylar's face was an unmoving smirk. "This is usually the part when people start screaming." He said in a low voice.

Peter didn't reply, but he closed his eyes, bringing to mind another person with gifts - Claude. Remembering all the emotions that went with him - disgust, dislike, but also a grudging respect. As he did so his outline began to shimmer and fade. Sylar gave a roar of fury and leapt at him before he could dissappear completely, and they both tumbled back onto the floor. Now pinned down, Peter struggled to get out from under the other man, but was paralyzed by an intense pain in his side, and he cried out. He gasped for air, but each breath was agony.

"Now, dammit, you _will_ die." Sylar growled, raising a finger to slice his head open yet again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: **Okay, after this chapter I'm not quite sure what I'm going to do with this. Originally I just wanted to try and finish how I thought the Peter vs. Sylar incident would go, but the silly fangirl part of me demands I continue. Once I think up a good plot I will continue. Don't worry, I'll try not to keep you waiting for long.

Once more, thanks so much to all my wonderful reviewers.

* * *

"Wait, Suresh... _Mohinder _Suresh?" Nathan asked.

Angela shrugged, and sighed, looking as if she was beginning to lose her patience. "I don't know the man's first name. I'd assume it was him, how many 'Suresh's are there in New York?" She paused upon seeing Nathan's face. "Why?"

Nathan looked back to the phone Claire was clutching. "Hiro told me... Mohinder was there too, that he was in danger as well..." He whispered, and realization sank in. "Shit, it's happening right _now_!"

* * *

"Are you sure this is the right address?" Nathan demanded. His mother, sitting in the back of the car, nodded, and the passengers lapsed into tense silence once more. The Haitian took the paper from Nathan, his eyes sweeping over the letters scrawled upon it, and turned the wheel.

In the backseat next to Angela, Claire couldn't keep her eyes off the image in Nathan's phone. She felt tears threatening to well up in her eyes. This man was her hero, her savior, but now she realized he was even more than that. He was her uncle. He was _family_.

After about ten minutes they pulled up to a large, somewhat shoddy, building. Nathan turned around in the seat to look back at Claire. "Listen... it could be dangerous in there. You might want to wait-"

Claire cut him off. "I'm coming." She said sternly. That finished, she followed the adults up to the building's entrance, ducking into the shadowy, grubby interior hallway, flinching at every noise.

Slowly they crept up the stairs, the Haitian and Nathan in the lead. Upon reaching the correct apartment, they could all hear the sounds of vicious fighting taking place within. Angela nodded to the Haitian, and he burst the door open.

Now Claire wished she hadn't looked at the picture so long. The apartment was exactly as it appeared in the painting - dark, dejected, furniture strewn about and broken. There was no one in the first room, but the sounds of a struggle had grown louder. This at least assured Claire that Peter was still alive.

Quickly following the sounds to their source, Claire gasped at the sight that met them. The room was trashed, broken shelves and appliances strewn everywhere. The one small window was shattered, and the light swung wildly on it's chain. Blood was splattered on the walls and floor. As soon as the group entered the threshold Sylar and Peter both paused their battle to look. Sylar's eyes narrowed angrily. The man had a large cut on the side of his face, bloody rips all over his shirt, and he was limping slightly, but Peter was a mess. His face was covered in blood, and his side was soaked as well. He was panting, pale, and looked shocked to see his mother, brother, Claire, and the Haitian appear in the doorway.

Sylar's lip curled, and he used the distraction to pick up large bits of splintered wood and metal from the floor and send them careening about the room. Claire screamed and Nathan pulled her out of the doorway in time to save her being impaled by a wood pole. Claire looked up at him in shock, but suddenly she heard the horrible sound of Peter crying out in pain. "Peter!" She screamed, fighting to get back to the doorway.

On the other side of the entryway, Angela nodded to the Haitian. He dipped his head in acknowledgment, and in an instant all the lurching objects fell to the floor. Sylar let out a shout of disbelief, and Nathan led the way back into the room. The Haitian leapt upon Sylar, who was still in a state of shock at his powers dissapearing, and tackled him to the ground.

Nathan rushed to Peter's side almost immediately after Sylar was down, trailed by Claire. He dropped to his knees, pulling his brother's crumpled form into his arms. "Peter... C'mon Peter talk to me..."

"N-Nathan...?" Peter coughed weakly, blood dripping out of his mouth. His eyes cracked open, dazed, as blood continued running down his chin.

"Jesus Peter what did he do to you?" Nathan asked sadly, his composed facade cracking in an instant.

"His head..." Claire reached out a trembling hand to brush Peter's bangs from his face, getting blood on her fingertips, but saw that there was no wound, only a thin scar. _He healed again. _She thought, a small smile barely tugging at the corner of her lips. "Nathan... Nathan he's going to be okay." She said, looking up at him. "He can heal."

"What?"

"He can heal himself, I've seen him do it before." Claire leaned closer, though doubt was already nagging at her mind as she remembered what he had said to her in the police station.

_"I'm not like you, Claire."_

Pushing these thoughts from her mind, Claire took hold of Peter's hand, staring down at him. "Come on Peter... You'll be okay..." She whispered. As she watched him, he groaned, coughing painfully as his damaged insides stitched themselves back together. Finally he reached up a shaking hand, wiping the blood off his chin, and looking up at them with clear, if frightened, eyes.

"Oh Peter thank God." Nathan pulled his brother into an enormous hug.


End file.
